American Nightmare Part 1
Mason City, Iowa
Sam, Dean, and Angela were in Mason City, Iowa on a case and Grace was at Jody's. The brothers were dressed as priests and Angela was dressed as a nun.
"Father Valdecantos?" Sam asked as they walked into the church. "I'm Father Penn of the Dubuque Archdiocese. This is—
"Father DeNiro." Dean introduced.
"And I'm Sister Moore," Angela added with a gentle smile. "We're here to talk about Olivia Sanchez."
Father Valdecantos turned to look at the three hunters and shook his head. "I'm not talking about that anymore." He replied firmly before he turned to walk away.
"You sure were chatty with the press and the cops." Dean retorted. "Priest Claims Demons Walk Among Us," he recited the newspaper title. "Boy, that's quite the headline grabber."
Father Valdecantos stopped and turned back. "I said I'm not talking about—
"No, we heard you." Dean interrupted. "Don't care."
"You'll think I'm lying, like my bishop, like everyone," Father Valdecantos argued. "But I knew Olivia. She was a good person. I watched her get flayed alive by some invisible force. That was the devil's work. I've been told the church doesn't want us talking like that anymore—too old fashioned. But I know what I saw."
"Did you see any black smoke?" Angela inquired.
Father Valdecantos frowned deeply. "What?"
"We don't think you're lying," Sam assured. "We just wanna ask you a few questions, that's all."
"Um… No. No smoke."
"What about sulfur?" Dean asked. "Did you smell, uh, rotten eggs?"
"No." Father Valdecantos shook his head.
"You told people that she was speaking in tongues?" Sam quirked a brow.
"Yes," Father Valdecantos nodded. "It sounded like Hebrew. Prok yaw-thi a-law-haw."
"Sounds more like Aramaic than Hebrew," Sam muttered.
"Hmm." Dean hummed.
Father Valdecantos's brows furrowed. "What kinds of priests and nun are you?"
"The old-fashioned kind," Dean replied shortly before walking away.
"Thank you," Angela replied sincerely.
Sam and Angela followed Dean, and they continued walking down the church aisle.
"So, no sulfur means no demon," Dean started. "You think the padre's right? We talking about Lucifer here?"
"Little small-time for him," Angela muttered. "I don't know. Maybe a rogue angel?"
Dean stopped suddenly and watched a little boy lighting a candle with his mother.
"Dean," Sam frowned.
"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "Uh, I'll make a call."
~/~\~
Dean was talking on the phone as he walked around the Impala. "Wait, wait, wait. What? Are you serious? Yes, Cas, that's weird. It's really, really weird. All right, yeah. Um… thanks for the heads-up."
Dean hung up the phone and looked up to see Sam and Angela walking toward him. Dean sent Mary a text saying, 'Hi, Mom, just checking in. Is mom still okay or weird? Should I call you Mary?' He waited for an answer, but nothing came.
"Now I'm a 13-year-old girl," Dean grumbled to himself.
Sam handed Dean a cup of coffee. "Hey. So, what's the word? Cas have anything?"
Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah. Uh… Well, good news, uh, there's nothing on angel radio, and Heaven's still on lockdown, so rogue angel is out."
"Bad news?" Angela asked.
"Cas is chumming it up with Crowley." Dean scoffed.
"Hmm." Sam hummed.
"They're hunting Lucifer together," Dean added. "That's right—one's an angel, one's a demon, and apparently, they solve crimes."
"Are they having any luck?" Sam asked curiously.
"Kind of." Dean shrugged. "So, Lucifer, the Lord of Evil, Angel of Light, is now the Master of Butt Rock. He jumped into Vince Vincente."
Sam's brows shot up. "The Rockstar?"
"The douchebag." Dean corrected. "Guy used to roll with purple hair down to his butt and a spiked codpiece."
"It—it was the '80s," Sam muttered.
"The what?" Dean demanded.
Sam chuckled. "Uh… it was the '80s."
"What, are you defending him?" Dean narrowed his eyes.
Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "No, I'm not… I mean, his third album was kind of… not horrible."
"I hate you so much right now." Dean shook his head. "Angie, you wanna say something?"
"Oh, no, this is funny." Angela smiled.
"Anyway," Sam cut in. "He's in the Devil now?"
"Well, I mean, he was always kind of the Devil, but, yeah, now it's official."
"Where is he?" Angela asked.
"Rowena blasted him to the bottom of the ocean."
"Why?" Sam's brows furrowed.
"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "Why do you love Vince Vincente?"
Sam rolled his eyes dramatically. "I don't love—Anyways, uh, looked at the words. I was right. They are Aramaic," Sam looked down at his tablet. "Prok yaw-thi a-law-haw. It means, 'Save me, oh, God."
"Save me from what?" Dean muttered.
Sam and Angela just shrugged, not knowing the answer.
~/~\~
Carl opened the door to an exam room and lead Sam, Dean, and Angela inside.
"Body's right there, Agents," Carl started. "I can get her prepped to your—
"That's great, Carl." Dean cut him off. "Uh… We'll take it from here."
"Oh?" Carl frowned. "Okay. Um, but… it's a weird'un. If you guys need anything at all, I'm—
"We won't. We won't. Thank you." Dean replied.
"Are… you sure?" Carl asked as Dean ushered him out of the room. "Yep. Oh, okay."
Dean closed the door and turned back to Sam and Angela.
"Little tough on Carl, don't you think?" Angela scoffed lightly.
"Ah, he's a big boy. He can take it."
"You okay?" Sam's brows furrowed in concern.
"Peachy," Dean replied.
"You sure?" Sam pressed. "'Cause ever since Mom left, you've been a little, uh… cranky."
"Cranky, huh?" Dean muttered.
"Yeah. I mean, to the priest, to Carl. Heck, on the way here, you wouldn't even make a pit stop."
"So, now your tiny bladder is my problem?" Dean scoffed.
"I'm just saying—
"Olivia Sanchez," Dean interrupted. "The body was found. It had deep cuts on her back as though she'd been whipped. Holes punctured her hands and her feet, and pinprick wounds around the top of her skull. What's that sound like to you?"
Angela picked up one of Olivia's hands and assessed the hole in the middle. "Stigmata."
"Bingo." Dean nodded. "Gets weirder."
"How?" Sam asked and Dean handed him the autopsy report. "The victim's skull was filled with a goopy mush."
"That Carl paints quite a picture, doesn't he?" Dean muttered. "All right. What can do all that?"
Sam and Angela looked at each other and shrugged.
"I got nothing." Sam shook his head.
"Me neither." Dean pursed his lips. "Well, maybe we should focus more on the case and less on the Dr. Phil crap."
Dean walked toward the door, and Sam and Angela quickly followed.
~/~\~
Sam, Dean, and Angela were being escorted by Beth to Olivia's old office.
"It's just over here," Beth started. "This is—was Olivia's office."
"So… what is it now?" Angela quirked a brow.
"…kinda mine now," Beth replied.
Dean looked down at the lit candle. "So, is that yours?"
Beth nodded. "It's for positive energy. I'm a Wiccan."
"Cool," Dean muttered, eyeing Beth skeptically.
"So, how well did you know Olivia?" Sam questioned.
"She was my boss," Beth answered. "Is it true what they're saying, that she, you know… killed herself?"
"Well, we're working on that. Um, now the day she died, was Olivia acting strange?" Sam asked.
"Not really." Beth shrugged. "I mean… She was getting headaches. Bad ones, like super migraines. But we all knew she was working too hard."
"Did she have any enemies?" Angela inquired.
"Somebody who held a grudge, maybe wanted to do her harm?" Dean added.
"Yeah. I mean, Olivia was great, but this is Child Protective Services. We get threats all the time."
Sam's brows furrowed. "From who?"
"Everyone." Beth shrugged. "You don't make a lot of friends when sometimes what's best for a family is to split them up."
"Right." Sam pursed his lips. "Um, yeah, can we see Olivia's case files."
"Of course. They're right over here."
~/~\~
Sam, Dean, and Angela left the building and Angela had the case files in her hands.
"Well, that was easy," Dean commented.
Sam frowned slightly. "What?"
"What?" Dean scoffed. "The Wicca'd Witch of the West in there. Little Miss Positive Energy wanted a bigger office, did a little hoodoo… Boom. I say we put a witch-killing cap in her ass, call it a day."
"Yeah, but we checked the church and Olivia's house," Angela argued. "We didn't exactly find any hex bags."
"So, she covered her tracks."
"But we're not looking at a witch." Sam retorted. "I'm not saying it's not Beth. I'm—I'm just saying we need proof," he added as Dean opened the Impala's trunk. "And look, if it's her, I'll shoot her myself."
Dean picked up a box of witch-killing bullets. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No, I'm definitely shooting her."
Dean closed the trunk. Sam and Angela just looked at each other and sighed deeply before getting in the Impala.
~/~\~
Dean walked over to Sam and Angela. "Coroner says signs of stigmata with a side of scrambled brains, just like Olivia."
"Great." Sam huffed.
"Did you guys find anything?" Dean asked.
"Maybe," Angela muttered. "Kid delivered groceries all over town, so I checked his route against Olivia's case files."
"And?"
"Got a match." Angela handed Dean the files.
Dean looked over the case files and took out his phone, dialing Beth's number. "Tell us about the Petersons."
"They're weird." Beth's voice rang through.
"How weird?" Dean inquired.
"All the way." Beth scoffed. "That family, they're, like, off the charts religious. Old, old Testament. I'm talking no cars, no electricity, no nothing. Kids are homeschooled. Family like that, we try to keep an eye on them, but…"
"But what, Beth?" Sam asked.
"Their oldest, Magda—a few years ago, she got pneumonia, and the family wouldn't let a doctor treat her," Beth explained. "They said whatever happened was God's will."
"What happened?" Angela asked.
"She died."
Sam pursed his lips. "All right. Um, thank you."
Dean ended the phone call as Sam shook his head.
"So?" Sam raised his brows.
"Weird, creepy, off the grid, 'Children of the Corn' people?" Dean shrugged. "Yeah, I'm in."
Dean started the car and sped off.
~/~\~
Dean drove down the beat-up road and turned into a driveway. He parked at a locked gate with a 'NO TRESPASSING' sign on it. The three hunters got out of the Impala, the brothers wearing sweaters and slacks. Angela wore a pale pink blouse with black dress pants.
"Guess we're walking from here," Dean noted.
Dean walked over the fence and struggled to get over it while Sam and Angela just walked around it. They walked up the driveway and noticed a power pole on the ground, no longer connected.
"Whoa," Dean muttered. "When they cut the cord, they really cut the cord."
"Yeah, no kidding." Sam scoffed.
"How fast do you think their buggy goes?" Dean snorted. "Like, top speed?"
"Hey, about yesterday…" Sam trailed off.
"Oh, all right," Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Next time you gotta take a leak, I'll pull over."
"I'm not talking about that." Sam scoffed. "I'm talking about you and Mom."
"What about her?" Dean grumbled. "What, she and Robert took some cash, she took a cell phone she doesn't answer, she bailed on us."
"I mean, think about what she's going through, what they're both going through." Angela sighed heavily. "She probably just needs some space. We've been there. We've all had times where we needed time apart."
"And we all came back." Dean retorted.
"You don't think she's going to?" Sam raised his brows.
"I don't know," Dean admitted. "She hates the way that we were raised. She hates the fact that we're hunters. Maybe she starts walking and she doesn't stop. You know, she obviously has zero interest in keeping this family together."
"Well, you know, sometimes families do better after a little time apart." Sam reasoned.
"Yeah, who? The Mansons?" Dean muttered grumpily.
Sam, Dean, and Angela walked up to the house. There were sounds of various animals in the distance.
"Can I help you?" Abraham asked as he walked around the house.
"Um, Abraham Peterson?" Sam asked. "I'm James Morrison. These are my associates, Ray Manzarek and Jane Densmore. Uh, we're your new caseworkers with Child Protective Services."
"Pleasure to meet you." Abraham nodded.
"Pleasure to meet you." Angela smiled gently.
"Yeah, thought you'd be, uh, you know, long beard, suspenders, big hat." Dean chuckled.
Abraham laughed lightly. "We're not that kind of religious."
"Ah." Dean nodded.
~/~\~
Sam, Dean, and Angela sat in the Petersons' living room with Mr. and Mrs. Peterson.
"Mr. and Mrs. Peterson," Angela started. "We're here because your previous caseworker, Olivia Sanchez, has passed away."
"What happened?" Abraham inquired.
"We're not sure yet," Dean answered.
"How often did she visit?" Sam asked.
"Every few months." Abraham shrugged.
"We liked her better than the other one—that Beth," Gail added.
Sam's brows furrowed slightly. "And what was wrong with Beth?"
"She hated us because of our faith," Gail replied. "Olivia Sanchez was a Baptist, but… at least she believed in God."
"Hmm." Dean hummed.
Gail smiled softly. "Do you three know God?"
"Oh, yeah," Dean chuckled. "Yeah, we're—we're besties."
Suddenly, Elijah walked into the room and whispered something to Abraham.
"Okay," Abraham pursed his lips. "Um… I'm a little embarrassed to ask, but do you think one of you boys might help me with something?"
~/~\~
Outside the house, Abraham, Dean, and Elijah stood around the broken buggy.
"So, what happens when, uh, stuff like this goes wrong and no one's around to help you?" Dean asked curiously.
"Pray harder," Elijah answered.
"See, I'm not good with all this," Abraham admitted. "I was a computer programmer until about five years ago."
Dean's brows furrowed. "What made you move out to the middle of nowhere?"
"Oh, the world out there is all distractions," Abraham answered. "Consumerism, corporations. And the people, if they're not shopping or stuffing their face, they're sitting in front of some screen watching fake people do fake things, while the real world just gets more and more screwed up. Gail and I, we didn't want that for our kids, so… so here we are, sweatin' our butts off."
"The things you do for your family. Hmm." Dean nodded.
"It's ready." Elijah cut in.
"All right let's get this wheel on. On three. One, two, three."
Together, Dean, Elijah, and Abraham raised the buggy and put the wheel back on.
"Okay." Elijah nodded.
~/~\~
Sam and Angela looked at a family picture that was on the fireplace mantle.
"We're out of coffee. Hope lemonade's all right." Gail walked into the living room with three glasses.
"Oh, yeah. Great." Sam nodded.
"Thank you," Angela added.
"Welcome." Gail smiled.
"Happy family." Angela nodded to the framed picture.
"No, they weren't." Gail shook her head. "The father was working 80 hours a week to barely pay the mortgage. And what little time he did spend at home, he spent in a bottle. Children were on four different kinds of behavior-enhancing medication and barely spoke. Could text up a storm, though. And the mother, she was the worst. She was so pilled up, she could barely think straight."
Sam's brows furrowed. "So, what happened?"
"God showed them a better way." Gail smiled. "I was in a car accident. Almost died. Nerves in the lower half of my body are damaged."
"Wow." Sam and Angela muttered.
"I saw doctors," Gail added. "No one could stop the pain. Best they could do was give me drugs, which helped for a while."
"Yeah," Sam whispered.
"But the more I took, the more I needed. And when I didn't get them…" she trailed off. "And then one night, when things were at their worst, I was… lying in a puddle of my own sick. I heard a voice. It was God's voice. And he said, 'Go, live a life of simplicity and humility, and all your pain will be taken away."
"So, has the pain gone away?" Angela asked softly.
"I get by, with His grace."
"Mrs. Peterson, um, what can you tell us about Ricky Copeland?" Sam asked curiously.
"The delivery boy?"
"Yeah." Sam nodded.
"Comes by once a week, brings us things we can't grow ourselves." Gail shrugged. "Why?"
"Well… He's dead, too." Angela replied gently.
"I see." Gail pursed her lips.
Angela frowned slightly. "You see? That's it?"
"God has a plan for us all," Gail assured.
Sam clenched his jaw slightly. "So, what happened to your daughter, was that God's plan?"
"Yes."
"She didn't have to die," Angela replied. "She was sick. If you had taken her to a doctor—
"God does—
"God doesn't care what kind of life you live." Sam interrupted angrily. "Trust me. And God didn't kill your daughter. You did."
"Think you three should go," Abraham said suddenly, standing in the hallway with Elijah and Dean.
~/~\~
Dean opened the trunk of the Impala. "All right. We're clear on what we gotta do, right?"
"Yeah, definitely." Sam took out his EMF meter.
Dean's brows furrowed in confusion. "What's that for?"
"To track down Magda's ghost. What's…" Sam looked down at the gun.
"Beth. The witch."
"Dean, this isn't a witch," Angela argued.
"Well, it's not a ghost." Dean scoffed.
"Those people let their daughter die." Sam retorted. "She's angry and wants revenge."
"Yeah, but they're alive. Besides, how—how she getting around town, huh? Ghosts are tied to one place."
"Or—or to a person or a thing." Angela shrugged.
"Oh, you're reaching." Dean rolled his eyes.
"And you're not?" Sam scoffed. "Beth didn't even know the delivery boy."
"Maybe, maybe not, but I'm gonna find out."
"Look, you didn't spend alone time with that woman," Angela stressed. "She is disturbed."
"The family's weird, but they're good people. Look, Beth wanted the better job, she killed to get it. End of story."
"You're wrong," Sam stressed.
"All right, look, you guys got your ideas, I got mine. You wanna stay here and, uh, scan the farm for EMF, you go right ahead. I'm on Beth."
"Fine," Angela replied. "We'll see who's right."
"Well, you'll see I'm right," Dean muttered.
A/N: Hey, y'all, I hope you liked this chapter! This episode freaks me out every time I watch it. Don't forget to leave a review to let me know what you think! Love y'all, xoxo :)
~Emily